


Record

by shinetheway



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Experimentation, Extremis, M/M, Marvel 616 (Freeform), Nanites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinetheway/pseuds/shinetheway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gold seeps up like leaking fluid, oozing from a port on the back of Tony’s arm to slide in a slow stream down to his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Record

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to MemoryDragon for the prompt ("records") and to Teyke for sprinting with me, and Sineala for her wonderful beta and cheerleading. Any mistakes that remain are definitely my own. This is set post-Extremis and pre-CW.

Tony hits Record, and hands Steve the camera. “This is only going to take a second, I promise,” he says, and Steve hefts the tiny machine, peers through the viewfinder, centers it on Tony’s hand. “Or, well, okay, probably more than a second, but—seriously, I appreciate this. I’ve never been able to record this stuff right myself.” Tony looks apologetic, and Steve smiles at him. He’s never minded Tony asking him to help out in the workshop. Back when Tony Stark was the team patron, a brilliant engineer and inventor, it was a thrill to be judged competent to help. Even after he found out Iron Man was Tony Stark, he was still inexplicably flattered to be asked. 

“It’s fine, Tony. No problem,” Steve says, and after a second he figures out how to operate the zoom. Tony’s arm leaps into proper focus. “Okay, go.”

“Internal underarmor, test one. Nine eighteen am. Right wrist. Ulnar section.”

The gold seeps up like leaking fluid, oozing from a port on the back of Tony’s arm to slide in a slow stream down to his hand. The stream flattens out, becomes a wide band that covers Tony’s hand from the jut of his wristbones to the swell of his thumb. Tony’s eyes, when Steve glances up, are black with code, and he looks away with a sudden throb of nausea. 

Tony flexes his wrist up, then down, metal nanites sliding with a nearly imperceptible singing past each other, the gold clinging to his skin as smoothly as fabric. He angles his hand to the side, laterally stretching, then makes a fist and squeezes hard. The gold clings to his skin as it flexes and shifts, his wrist tensing then relaxing.

“Test two, nine twenty-three am. Right hand and forearm.” Tony sounds detached, professional, like this is any normal day—like he doesn’t have tiny machines inside him, covering him. Steve feels sick.

Steve makes himself watch through the viewfinder, the gold spreading up Tony’s wrist to his forearm, spreading down to coat his fingers. Covering more area, the layer of nanites is visibly thinner now; the shifting tendons and muscles beneath the skin are visible, and it clings to every crease and scar. 

It’s beautiful, in a way. 

Tony does a full routine of hand stretches to test the flexibility of the nanites, narrating the whole time, while Steve keeps his eyes firmly on the viewfinder. It’s easier seeing this on a tiny screen, rather than watching it in reality. He tries to imagine them on his skin and shudders involuntarily, the camera wobbling for a moment before he can steady it.

The final test is impact; Steve flinches at the first gentle tap of a small precision mallet, then forces himself still while Tony repeats it, varying the force and location and reporting everything for the camera in that same disquieting matter-of-fact tone.

When Tony finally pulls the nanites back into himself, oozing in the same eerie way back through the port and into his bone, Steve takes a breath for what feels like the first time in hours. He looks up to see Tony’s face, suddenly feeling like he needs to remind himself what his friend truly looks like. 

“End test, ten oh five am.” Tony sounds excited and proud. Steve sees his eyes are still black and grins back at Tony’s evident glee. It’s a pretty bad attempt.

He feels cold inside and he shivers, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice.


End file.
